Guess this is the 'After'
by baka deshi
Summary: [Complete] Brief, sort of melancholy one-shot from a mother's point of view; set after the end of the series. R&R appreciated.


Author's note:   
I just felt like writing this. Not sure I really got the feeling across as well as I'd like, but here it is. Review if you care to, please--and remember, the characters concerned may not be whom you think ^_~ 

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A mother's eyes surveyed the last stages of supper in a modest hut, sliding the last of the vegetables into the soup. One small bowl and one large sat haphazardly on the edge of her only table, leaving a space where the head of the table should be. 

They were eating for two, that night. 

It had been several seasons now since he left her to hunt for Naraku, and she had watched the leaves change from green into gold many times before she finally understood the truth of his death. And still, every time the cool wind rose it tugged her heart with it, singeing the edges of her soul, and she expected him to come bursting through their door. For even those who had been there hadn't been able to believe his death....it was not for her to understand. 

She turned again, to be sure the bread wasn't burning, and found herself indulging in the sight of her child. He was so enthralling, his father's determination--that same cocky smile--embodied in flesh. And like his father, she smirked, he was a hard companion to deal with. He was sleeping finally, curled up by the fireside with his favorite blanket, arms tucked tight to his chest just like his father. So much alike, that sometimes she thought she might turn around and see him lying there instead. 

It scared her, sometimes, how much the idea appealed to her. 

She loved her child fiercely, but he came at the expense of someone she'd loved to the bones, and it was not possible to trade one for the other so easily. Sometimes, it was far crueler to be left with only this shadow-husband, a tiny charicature so painfully similar yet so very distant. And crueler even to him, already feared by the neighboring villagers. He didn't understand yet, and she couldn't keep it forever, but sooner or later he would know those snake-tongued whispers were directed at him, those wagging tongues warning others away. For now, he was asleep, and she would deal with the rest as it came. 

She looked down at his picturebook, still resting patiently on her lap, and contemplated finishing it. Gently, lovingly, she traced the curve of the prince's happy grin with one rosy fingertip, the ghost of a smile echoed on her own lips. He never failed to fall asleep here, she recognized, patting the worn page affectionately. He could pay attention through any number of battles, any account of demon-fighting, but once the monsters were slain and the lady rescued his eyes never failed to close. The childish belief, held with only the tenacity a four-year-old can possess, that everything would turn out all right. The prince and princess marry, and the evil demons vanish. There was no reason to pay attention to the "Happily Ever After". 

She closed the book decisively, starting at the dry, cracking sound its sides made. A practiced eye roamed instinctively to her child, but he only pulled the blanket closer. The noise had not woken him, but she'd have to be careful--once awake, he was impossible to put back down. It was lucky enough he had not tired of this picturebook already; it was so difficult to get him to sit still...Rising stiffly, she pushed the book to one side with an indifferent shove. She would save the ending for later. 

The soup pot suddenly surprised her with a loud, guttral sputtering, and the woman instinctively whirled around into a defensive position. Sometimes, she contemplated what it would be like to go back out searching again--if she could even find the strength. But her son exhausted her, and the mere day to day feat of getting along was so difficult...She glared at dinner in annoyance and reached for the nearest cooking chopstick to push the mixture around. 

But she owed it to her son to rid him of the reason he had no father. 

Naraku's name fell like a curse from her lips and she slashed the soup a few times, as if imagining her chopstick digging at the bastard's heart itself. She knew she could hunt him, knew she could track him down eventually, and yet... 

_ It won't bring him back. _

She looked at the door beads, waving harshly in the November breeze. 

She looked at the soup kettle, slowly burning itself dry. 

She looked at her son, his tiny hand already swathed in a rosary, and the tears kept falling. 

_ 'Guess this is the 'after'…'_

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End file.
